Mycroft
by themuller
Summary: Mycroft never wanted an Omega. When Sherlock falls, Mycroft does what needs to be done. But it comes at a price. Trigger warning: Rape/non-con. This is Omega-verse!


Warning: Rape, non-con in this chapter - it is Omega-verse.

Not beta'ed nor britpicked.

A/N: This can be read as a sequel to 'The Omega' or as a stand-alone.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Infuriating. This Omega had always been one of the most infuriating human beings Mycroft had met. And right now, right now, this Omega should be begging for his Alpha cock, writhing on the bed, covered in sweat.

Instead, instead he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, a display of the very quintessence of loneliness and misery. Slumped shoulders, head bowed. The scent giving away the traumatically broken bond. Somewhere in the back of Mycroft's mind was a small, concerned voice. Easily ignored, since he had more pressing matters to attend to.

He had to put things right. Had to claim this Omega as his. Mate, mark, claim, and protect. Mycroft wanted the Omega to acknowledge him. To react to the presence of an aroused Alpha. He hadn't even tried to undress, and Mycroft set out to rectify the situation. They were safe now. This was Mycroft's townhouse, the bedroom door was closed and locked, and Mycroft's minions had arranged that they would be undisturbed for the next days if need be. Not that Mycroft was concerned with arrangements or minions, all he cared about was to make sure his Omega was kept safe and alive. A disturbing thought crossed Mycroft's mind, reminding him of the urgency of the situation. The broken bond. The Omega needed a new Alpha. As fast as possible.

He crossed the room, and started to undress the Omega. He stood still, let Mycroft turn and move his limbs as he needed to remove the jumper, shirt, trousers. He flinched when Mycroft tugged down his pants, and his arms reached up as if to push Mycroft away. He looked at Mycroft, but his eyes were unfocused, not recognising who or what was standing in front of him. His hands were pressed against Mycroft's chest, powerless. With a broken sob, he let his arms fall limp beside his side.

"Sh, John," Mycroft whispered softly, "don't fight. You are safe now."

Mycroft pulled him close, nuzzling his neck, licking a trail down towards the shoulder, biting lightly at the swollen gland at the base of the neck. When his tongue flicked over the skin, Mycroft growled. Anger. He could feel the raised skin from old scars, cuts, and bruises. Abuse, more than twenty years ago, visible, tangible, and so very wrong.

Holding him tightly, Mycroft lead him to the bed, where the Omega slumped down, immediately curling up into a fetal position. Mycroft quickly undressed and joined him, turning the Omega on to his back. Carefully, Mycroft nudged him into the middle of the bed, spreading his legs and settling himself between them. Almost breathless he took in the sight in front of him. The taut body, sweaty from the heat. The stretch marks from his pregnancies, proof of a very fertile Omega. Breed, Mycroft whispered, not heeding the panicky voice on the edge of his conscious mind. The dark blue eyes, unseeing but open, black pupils widening. Red, wet lips, slightly parted. Taking a deep, appreciative breath, Mycroft continued his exploration, kissing along the shoulder, sighing delightedly whenever he succeeded in eliciting any kind of response from the Omega.

Mycroft's growing arousal added to the pheromones in the bedroom. He turned towards the hardening rosy nipples on the Omega's chest, sucking and biting, until the Omega started writhing in the sheets, finally giving in to his body's needs. With a smirk Mycroft slowly kissed a trail downward to the nest of curly, dark blond hair surrounding the Omega's half hard cock.

"No," it was a plea more than a demand, ending in a choked sob, and the writhing stopped abruptly.

Mycroft heard the sound, maybe even registered the word and its meaning, but his mind and body were unable to recognise anything but the pleading. With an unfaltering interest, he turned his attention toward the drooping member, pecking at the foreskin, tasting the fluids gathering at the head. He sucked gently, until he could feel the flesh hardening. He continued the fondling and was finally rewarded with a small whimper. Licking up from the base to the head, he then swallowed him down, sucking hard, slowly letting go, with just a hint of teeth to entice the Omega further.

With a satisfied hum Mycroft sat back and let his gaze wander over the writhing moaning body in front of him. His hands caressed the Omega's thighs, trying to get eye contact but failed. The pupils were wide blown, the scent, every movement, every sign of arousal was present. The Omega's body wanted this and yet it seemed as if his mind fought it every single step of the way. Something was off, but Mycroft couldn't care less.

He let out a frustrated growl and turned the Omega over onto his knees. With one hand Mycroft pushed his shoulders down and the Omega was now presenting his slick hole for Mycroft's intense scrutiny. Satisfied once again, Mycroft lapped at the thick liquid, sighing contently, engulfed by the sweet smell of a willing, needy body, pliantly waiting for him to initiate and finish the bonding. His tongue darted in and out of the Omega's entrance, and the weeping pleas became a white noise, only egging Mycroft on. Every sense told him to take, to claim, to mate. The body before him was open, alluring, screaming at him, begging for his Alpha cock to fill it.

And his cock was hard, standing straight up, an angry dark red signalling Mycroft's need to start the mating process. Pushing two, then three fingers into the Omega, feeling the welcoming heat and slickness, he finally grabbed the hips and pushed slowly, but continuously into the tight opening, eliciting small, painful cries from the Omega. The body was opening up beneath him, the cries only agitating him further. The slight feeling that something was off was overrun by the onslaught on Mycroft's senses. Smell, touch, taste. He was inside an Omega, his Omega.

For the first time in his life he experienced an Omega in heat, and it was overwhelming. His body knew what it wanted, what it needed. And it took. Pounding into the heat, the wet hole, his fingers digging deep into the hips of the Omega, Mycroft lost all sense of time and place. Faster and faster, deeper and harder he pushed his cock inside, the bodies slapping together, slick with sweat. When he felt his knot forming, his movements became increasingly erratic. He bent down, finding the bonding gland by instinct, the renewed reminder of other bonds before him only adding to his furious lust. The body of the Omega wasn't fighting him any longer, it was pushing back against him, finding its own rhythm, begging to be filled by the Alpha riding it. One hand found its way to the Omega's cock, now hard and leaking, his balls drawn up, so close, so very close to the climax.

When Mycroft bid down, drawing blood and sucking it in, he came inside the Omega, and his Omega came with a cry, a name, which Mycroft recognised.

"SHERLOCK!"

It came all came back to him within the blink of an eye.

The phone call from Hamish. Arriving at the scene. A frantic Miss Hooper on the verge of a breakdown trying to shield John from the bystanders and helpers.

The ride back to his townhouse. John sitting quietly, pliant, not responding. The smell of a distressed Omega filling the car. The scent of the impending bonding heat slowly pervading the confined room of the car.

Mycroft's conscious effort to push away his own emotions, shock, grief, guilt.

Anger. Staying focussed on the anger.

Anger, because Sherlock made sure John would see him fall. Anger, because Mycroft knew he was the cause, however indirectly, having supplied Moriarty with the information he needed to set off the media on their hunt for Sherlock.

Anger, because Mycroft would need it to do what need to be done. Becoming the Alpha male who would claim and protect the Omega, to ensure a new bond. The tiniest of hope for John to survive.

"John," Mycroft murmured terrified, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. "

He tried to pull John up and turn his face toward him, his cock still firmly locked inside his new bondmate's body. But John was boneless, unconscious. Mycroft laid him softly down on the duvet, snuggled closely, spooning him to wait for the deflating of his knot. All the while he continued to whisper into John's ear, telling him that he was needed, that he couldn't give up, that Mycroft would keep him safe. Safe and alive.

He couldn't let his grief and guilt fester in his mind. Not yet. He had to fight for John's life. Bring him back to consciousness before this turned into the dreaded coma of a broken bonded Omega.

As his knot deflated, he slowly slipped out of John. Carefully, he untangled himself and went to the bathroom to find a flannel, a bowl of hot water, and the first aid bag. He settled down beside John and started to clean him up. Stroking gently over the battered body, feeling a new wave of anger at the old scars, which he couldn't help but examine once more, while he washed the body tenderly. He could feel the bond forming in his chest. Warmth spreading into every corner of his body. When he started to clean the fresh bitemark, John sighed deeply and stirred.

Mycroft had to bite back a cry of joy, when John opened his eyes and looked at him. It didn't matter, that his eyes were dark with anger. He was back. For now.

With a sudden movement, John pushed himself away from Mycroft's touch, looking around the room without recognising where he was.

"You're safe, John," Mycroft said, watching him intently.

John huffed.

"Safe? From what? Or who?" he asked defiantly. He looked down his naked, bruised body, then touched the bandaged bitemark with every sign of contempt.

"Whom," Mycroft corrected, unthinkingly. He could feel his self control crumble. His own distress was pushing him to his limits.

"Yeah, like this is about grammar and spelling. Well, let me spell it out for you then: You. Raped. Me."

Mycroft flinched.

"I saved your life, John."

"For now," John scooted further back, putting a greater distance between him and Mycroft.

He crawled out of the bed and hobbled towards his pile of clothes.

"I'm going back to Baker Street."

"The bond needs to develop, John. If you go now -," the look from John stopped any objections, Mycroft might have had.

"I'm going home to the kids, if it's the last thing I'll ever do. And you are not going to stop me!"

With a small wince John pulled up his trousers, and put his clothes in order.

"If I should survive this, I'll need you for getting through my next heat. Which probably will be my last," John spoke matter of factly. "I'm not going to live with you. You are not my bondmate. You won't tell the children what happened between us."

Mycroft looked down. John sighed, looking at the ceiling.

"Hamish and Sophie know," it wasn't a question.

"Sophie told me in no uncertain terms what she expected me to do," Mycroft said quietly.

"You could have asked me."

"You were in no condition to give consent," Mycroft didn't look at John.

"Oh, and that makes it alright, then?" John had walked to the door, unlocking it. "Christ, Mycroft. Sophie and Hamish," he shook his head, "they're kids."

"They need you, John. All four of them."

John looked at him.

"No," he said sadly, "they're old enough to manage. Their uncle is rich and can provide for them. Keep them safe."

John had opened the door, was looking at the floor.

"They don't need me," he said, then he turned and walked slowly down the stairs.

The black car would take him back to Baker Street. And the driver would know to wait. Till it was time to take John to the hospital.

Mycroft slumped down beside the bed. He had put on a dressing gown when he got up before. He pulled it tight around him. Protectively. Fumbling for his mobile, he finally broke. Trembling, tears streaming down his face, he was barely able to sent a text.

Please - mycroft


End file.
